


She Does

by Settledvagabond



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: F/F, romantic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-11-17
Packaged: 2018-04-07 14:45:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4267293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Settledvagabond/pseuds/Settledvagabond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fletch-us Interrupt-us.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rabeatkinsons](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=rabeatkinsons).



"Oh god, gov... Governor - yes. YES."

Vera's breathing was shallow and stuttered, head lulled back, the fabric of her uniform collar rough against the back of her neck. She looked down at Joan's tight bun lifting up her skirt, and dropped her head back with a moan as she felt Joan's fingers deep inside of her, long tongue lapping slowly at her clit. Her small fingers dug into Joan's neck as she began to shake and shudder, gasping.

"Ahh... ah... AH..."

_shhhhhhuh click_

Joan suddenly froze between Vera's legs.  Her tongue was still pressed against Vera, her fingers crooked inside of her.  The door to the Governor's office opened and unceremoniously shut.

"What the FUCK?"

Joan licked her lips slowly as she withdrew her head from between Vera's small, quivering thighs, and wiped her mouth against her blazer sleeve as she stood up to her full height.

"Mister Fletcher," she said, somehow already condescending without saying anything more, "I think you have just answered your own question with that last word."

Vera did not dare lift her head.  Her legs were still spread, knickers down, stockings torn.  Her brow furrowed in embarrassment and she sucked in her lower lip, mortified.  Her arms shook as she pulled her head forward, not looking at Fletch.

"Vera is this... well this explains a lot."

Vera suddenly looked up, incredulous.

"Oh do NOT... THIS... was not about..."

Joan's hand rested on Vera's shoulder, restraining her gently.  Vera took a steadying breath, looking up at Joan. Her eyes thanked her silently.

"This... this is not about me being... gay," Vera said, sliding off the desk. She still hadn't so much as glanced at Fletch. "This was - IS," she corrected, glancing to Joan with a wry smile, "About someone who... who loves me, who doesn't treat me as just a... a fuck."

Vera bit her lower lip and looked at Joan sheepishly. Joan's face was a mixture of confirmation and heartache, knowing what Fletcher had put her through. He didn't even know, did he, the bastard - what hurt he had wrought upon her, kind, sweet Vera?

Fletch swallowed, unable to come up with a response that was not childish or entirely ignorant. Vera looked at him only fleetingly, but he saw fully the way she looked at Joan - she had looked at him like that once.  Well, not quite. This was... different. 

"Vera, I didn't mean to -"

"Just... just go, Matt," Vera said, shaking her head. Now she looked at him - fully, in the eye. His eyes watered, his expression becoming repentant and lost.

"...Vera," he said, hopeless. His hands were away from his body, palms up, as if waiting for some answer to land in them, but nothing came.

Vera straightened and brushed her skirt. She squeezed Joan's hand a moment, then took a step towards Fletcher.

"Matthew. Go. Now."

He looked at her, made a sharp, marked exhalation and waited, his eyes searching hers, looking for and finding no hope.

Finally he shook his head, and headed out. As he was about to shut the door, he paused. 

"...I hope she's good to you, Vera."

Vera swallowed and stood taller than she ever had in her life.

"Better than you did, Fletch. Though that's not saying much."

Joan suffocated a guffaw in the crook of her elbow, disguised as a cough. A look of hurt struck Matthew's face. His eyebrows furrowed in pain and he, without another word, exited, closing the door quietly.

Vera's moment of bravado collapsed,  as did she - back, into Joan's capable arms.

"You did the right thing, Vera," Joan whispered into Vera's ear. She made no acknowledgement of the tears Vera wiped angrily away.

Vera swallowed and turned back to Joan, a sudden determination in her eyes.

"Yes I did," she said sharply. "Now," she said, sliding back onto the desk, "Where were we?"

Joan bit her bottom lip, eyebrow arching of its own accord. 

"I believe...right about, " Joan slipped two fingers into her mouth, extracted them, then they vanished beneath Vera's skirt. Vera gasped.

"Right about there."


	2. Chapter 2

Vera's foot bounced in the air, legs crossed, her uniform skirt riding up slightly uncomfortably. She sat ensconced in the corner of Joan's couch, two fingers pressing into her right temple as her foot twitched with irritation.  She hadn't even bothered to take her hair down, as Joan already had - her grey-streaked hair was softly waved over her shoulders.  She hardly even heard or noticed as Joan strode through the room, snatched her nearly empty wine glass from her, and set it on the coffee table.  She watched Vera for a moment, lost in thought.  Her beautiful little bird, always weighted by things she shouldn't have to carry, by people who should have known better.

Her right hand flexed and unflexed. Fletch was not going to get away this this, and her hands ached for leather and righteous acts, but Vera was more important right now. And always.

That was the difference between herself and Matthew Fletcher - herself and Vera's mother: among so many other things, what set them apart was that Vera was her priority now, not just herself. 

_ Selfish, cowardly... _

A sigh from Vera rattled Joan's train of thought; Joan swallowed guiltily. After all she had just thought about priority and focus...

"Vera, why don't we go for a walk, hmm?  Clear, cool air might be just what you need."

Contrary to that offer, Joan refilled Vera's wine glass. She wasn't really sure  _what_ Vera needed, and that bothered her. Cultivation and manipulation, at that she excelled.  True nurturance and patience with emotional suffering was not something she normally tolerated well, but she would be gentle and allow even her own shortcomings in order to learn.  For Vera.

Vera dismissed the idea out of hand, snatching up the wine glass and sipping a quarter of it without even looking. 

"No, no, I don't want to... walk," she said, distracted.  She waved at her feet absently.

"And not in these... shoes."

Joan rounded the table and knelt down in front of Vera, gentle hands slipping the offending heels off of Vera's feet. Joan firmly pressed into her sore arches, and Vera murmured with pleasure, the first relief Joan had seen all day easing Vera's creased brow.  She looked down at Joan after a moment, finding a curiously tentative smile on Joan's lips.

"I won't let Matthew Fletcher ruin our night," Joan said, firmly massaging Vera's tired, small feet.  "But I need you to talk to me, Vera. Tell me what you need. I... I'm not very good at this," Joan confessed, gesturing to the wine, her attempt at comfort with the foot rub. "But I would like to be, if you'd teach me," she said, and an unexpected welling of tears rushed into her voice. She chewed on her lower lip, confused and trying not to cry - this was about Vera, for goodness sake, not her.

Vera looked down on her, confused herself.  Then she uncrossed her legs and leaned forward, catching Joan's face in her hand.

"Oh you're right, I'm sorry."

She hesitantly leaned in and kissed Joan lightly, then rested her forehead against Joan's, breathing in the steadying scent of her.

She pulled back and rolled her eyes.

"I have a beautiful, caring - um..." she paused, flustered.  She looked at Joan and laughed, "And here I am still thinking about _Fletch._ " She shook her head and adjusted herself on the couch, curling her legs up.

Joan savored the distain in Vera's voice as she said his name. It gave her a thrill of hope she hadn't realized she was hoping for, til it brought a smile to her lips.

"I'm a beautiful, caring - what exactly, Vera?" Joan teased, happy to get her off the subject of Fletch,  _more_ than a little excited to get on to the subject of what they were, or hopefully would be.

Vera's lips pursed, though a smile won out.  She leaned back as Joan sat down at her feet and leaned only slightly toward Vera, giving her space.

"Well I... I don't suppose I know, really," Vera demured, though honestly.  "We've never really... talked about it, have we?"  

She looked fleetingly at Joan, adjusting herself nervously but all joy in her features.  She seemed to have hopes herself, or so Joan thought.  Vera felt her face redden and she giggled.   _Oh god I sound like a school girl whose never had a boyfriend before._

Vera reminded herself that this was basically true, and inwardly cut herself some slack. Hopefully Joan wouldn't judge her too harshly, and it wouldn't scare her off. If Joan didn't know what she was in for at this point, she would have to be very, very unobservant, and Vera knew her to be the exact opposite.

"Well we're talking now, aren't we?"

Vera found herself cocking a very Joan-like eyebrow of obviousness. She did her best glare - which Joan, predictably, laughed at. She swatted Vera's knee and got up to retrieve her own glass of wine.

"In all seriousness," Joan said as she leaned over Vera's knees, "What are your intentions for what has been going on between us?  Are you considering this to be a viable, long term arrangement? "

When Joan looked up from her nearly-empty glass, Vera looked like she had just seen a talking dog.

"Viable. Long term. Arrangement?" Vera repeated. Joan nodded, a stab of hurt ruffling her slightly.  Vera continued to eye her curiously.  "Joan, you make it sound like a... a contract." Vera laughed but Joan looked entirely uncomfortable. 

"I'm not sure why the idea is so ridiculous, Vera," Joan said, shockingly uncomfortable now, and sat back out of their closeness.  "I think we are... compatible companions." Joan brushed a non-existant bit of dust from her slacks. She suddenly felt embarrassed and foreign in her own home and brushed back her hair behind her ears like a chastised child.

"Oh no, Joan, no, that's not what I meant," Vera said urgently, sliding her legs beneath her and kneeling close as she dared to Joan.

"Well then please make yourself clear, Vera, and quickly."

_ Oh Joan, _ Vera thought, trying not to laugh.  She was so easily hurt, it was childlike and endearing - but she knew if she were to laugh it might be an irreparable slight to Joan, so she waited til she trusted herself not to so much as giggle before she opened her mouth to clarify.

"I only meant that you make something so lovely sound so... clinical."

Joan perked up slightly.

"What sounds lovely, Vera?"

She had to make her say it. For once, it couldn't be an idea Joan planted there.

Vera grabbed Joan's now- empty wine glass in frustration and unceremoniously got up, tromping into the kitchen. 

"We need more wine."


	3. Chapter 3

Cold, clean night air slid naturally through the apartment - Joan had chosen it partly for that, its ease and openness, the flow of air and sunlight. Artificial light cut cleanly through all of the glass, bounced off of steel. She sat, wine glass held to her knee, as she tried to ignore the comical sounds of Vera huffing about the kitchen in mock frustration. With every hushed curse word, bang, and scuffle, Joan had to squelch laughter through her nose. The cold air flushed gooseflesh on her forearms, exposed where she had rolled back her uniform shirtsleeves.  Her shoes lay abondoned, kicked off much earlier, and now her black-socked toes twitched as she thought.

Joan leaned over the top of the couch with her left elbow on the top of it, the line of her long, almost too tall for the couch. Her entire body felt unsure and uncomfortable, and she had the loaded feeling that tonight would either be wonderful or terrible. Old hopes and memories surfaced - the first time she had ever seen Vera. When, exactly, she had decided Vera might be pretty - and when she had caught Vera watching her when she wasn't looking, Joan had begun to observe her right back.  The way she had watched her, it made sense now, how Vera had started as an afterthought and slowly become the focus of her time at Wentworth,  the focus of her life.  Goodness, they had come so far, she thought, least of all Vera. There was a tell-tale clatter of something metal falling in the kitchen, but Joan licked her lips and waited. She was good at waiting. She was patient.

Vera, on the other hand, was  _not._

Vera rearranged the pots she had invertantly sent sprawling when she opened the wrong cabinet looking for another wine bottle, too embarrassed to just ask Joan where it was, now that she had been in the kitchen so long. The entire kitchen, though pristine, clean, and organized, was not intuitively designed with a small person such as Vera in mind, clearly. The maze of carefully arranged shelves was starting to make her sweat under her blazer - why did she still have her uniform jacket on?  She hastily pulled it off, tossed it on the counter, and yanked her hair out, fluffing it in annoyance. As much as she wanted to  _stay_ annoyed, the loosening of her hair, the cool breeze that kissed her scalp and neck, the relief of the hot jacket being off all made her sigh in relief.  Vera sat back for a moment, resting her bottom on the counter behind her.  

She was being silly, she knew that.  Joan's face filled her thoughts, hopeful and mischievous. She _loved_ that look on her face, longed for it.  It was only stupid Fletcher that had shaken her up - now everyone would know.  She had decisions to make.

Her eyes strayed around the stylish but sterilized apartment. If she could spend the rest of her life bringing more of that girlish charm to Joan's life, this place would look entirely different.  She could hardly imagine.

Vera turned her attention back to the task at hand.  In the cool white light, she reached out for a slightly higher cabinet, calmer now.

From the living room, Joan heard an ecstatic squeak - she had found the wine.

Vera palmed the bottle, basking for a moment in her victory, investigating the vintage and french words on the thick cream label - then suddenly paused.  She breathed in slowly - then sharply out her nose.

She had no idea where the wine opener was.

Vera crossed her arms and rolled her head back.  The clean, pale light only annoyed her further for some reason, and her own stockinged feet on the tile floor made her feel tiny, childish.  The hot tears threatening to spill over infuriated her - it was so silly, she would find the opener in no time!  She had always had the unfortunate tendancy to cry when she got angry, which made arguments generally impossible.  The exchange with Fletch in Joan's office had been a marked exception, it seemed.

Inevitably, sure, quiet footsteps made there way into the kitchen and Vera felt even worse. She just wanted to be left alone for a moment, to channel her misplaced anger where it belonged.

Slowly, slender fingers slipped her hair behind her left ear.  Vera shivered.

Joan wrapped her arms around her, pulling her back into her warm, tall body.  She felt Vera resist slightly, petulantly, but she let it pass without comment.  She looked down on Vera's loose, tangled hair as she spoke.

"I'm sorry, Vera. I don't mean to be so..." she bent over and rested her chin on Vera's shoulder.  She sighed.  Her lips pursed in thought.

"Difficult, " she said finally.

Vera chuckled without amusement as she was further drawn into Joan's embrace - the taller woman wound herself about Vera, and Vera very much did not want it to feel as good as it did, especially when Joan rooted through Vera's hair with her patrician nose to place tiny kisses on Vera's neck.  She could feel Joan's lips frown against her skin.

"What's wrong, Vera?" Joan asked, and Vera's annoyance began to thaw.  She was being too hard. 

Vera turned her head and titled back into Joan so she could look at her. Joan's expression was apologetic - and maddeningly endearing.  Her eyes were bright, her silver-shot hair a wavy jumble that kissed Vera's face.  Joan brushed her nose against Vera's cheek.  She couldn't quite keep Vera's gaze; she kept looking away as if, if she looked her fill, Vera might catch something Joan wasn't ready to be seen.

"I just want to know what I am to you, Vera," she said softly. Her long hands brushed and played with Vera's, Joan's gaze loosely focused on their entwining fingers. Vera watched her in amazement as Joan's distant eyes shown with a hint of tears.  In a whisper, Joan added, "I know what you are to _me_."

Vera lifted one hand up and turned Joan's face towards her.  Joan obeyed the touch, but her eyes stayed fixed on the floor.

"What am I? To you, Joan?"

Joan licked her lips, pressed them into a thin line, worked them back and forth. 

"Why... a partner," she settled on, with some enthusiasm, brightening up a bit.  She looked at Vera sheepishly.  "And I was hoping, maybe someday... muh. Ahem." She cleared her throat and said "Someday maybe more."

Vera turned in their embrace, taking Joan's hands in hers, and brushed Joan's nose with her own sweetly.  She waited for their eyes to meet.

"And more means?"

Joan swallowed. Her throat and mouth had gone suddenly dry.  When she spoke, it was like being at the bottom of a fishbowl.

"Puh... partners... legally."  She frantically searched Vera's eyes for reaction.  There was only waiting there, a silent "Go on".

" I would want us to be legal partners.  Like... like marriage, if that were... that is to say if that became an option, in this country."


	4. Chapter 4

Silence loomed, echoing and heavy.  The weight of it sat, like a smug, unmoving cat, on Joan's chest.  In the back of her mind, she could hear the cold, distant voice of her father murmur, "This is what happens when you show your cards too early, Joan".

Joan swallowed around a mass in her dry throat and tried to ignore him.  He was wrong about Vera -  _wrong._  He had to be.

Vera lopsidedly smiled at Joan, but still said nothing. Everytime it seemed she might speak, she stopped again, making Joan's heart - and hopes - swell and fall like a roller coaster without a track. Joan watched the curls closest to her face twitch with every false start and she longed to push them back, but fear of her hands shaking halted her instinct.

She had wanted this moment, this confession to go so much more smoothly. She wanted flowers and fine wine, an atmosphere of rosy joy... not disheveled uniforms and the white-and-steel sharpness of her kitchen at ten o'clock at night, sweating like a nervous school boy confessing his inarticulate love.  Mr. Fletcher had, for better or worse, hastened the unveiling of these barely-restrained feelings. They had seen their chance for freedom and flown like a bird toward the sun!

But she had the oddest feeling that it was all alright - this way, this moment was _true_ , she thought - this was them, this was their love: disarray and flushed cheeks, improbable and ill-timed, yet stumbling always to brilliant and delighting perfection. In the end, it was always perfect. 

Joan took Vera's hands firmly in hers, the pulse of blood strong as a bird fluttering in her miniscule palms. Vera's face upturned, eyes bright, lit from within.

"Vera, we aren't always... perfect," Joan began, feeling out the momentum like a child finding his way across wet beach rocks, "But... we always get there, don't we?" _  
_

Vera nodded her agreement, laughing at the evening, at everything, inclining her head again when Joan did not go on.

"And... and frankly," Joan said, raising her brows and shrugging her shoulders, "I think that's a... a lovely way to go about things."

Vera laughed lightly, the tension all falling from her. A smile shot across Joan's face at the sound, at the love and softness in Vera'gaze. She'd done it - she had succeeded in healing her from what marred her, and without really knowing consciously the precise steps she had taken to get here. She did know one thing, though, and Vera's bright, toothy smile was proof of it: Her father was wrong - vulnerability fixed things, not derailed them. It was frightening, and it didn't always work, but now Joan understood  _why -_ she just hadn't found someone worth her vulnerability. And not just worthy of it, but capable of receiving it.  She felt a twinge of guilt and burning as she thought of Jianna, too young and needing care herself to care for Joan as she needed. No, she had not found someone both safe and strong. Til Vera.

Vera shook her head and Joan wondered for an odd moment if she had spoken some of her most recent thoughts aloud, when Vera, still smiling secretively, finally spoke.

"Imperfect and messy, a lovely way to do things?" She chuckled and looked Joan in the eye curiously. Joan fairly fainted with love at the curve of Vera's cheek as she smiled, the silver bell of her laugh, the sweep of her hair against her throat.  "Where is the Governor and what have you done with her? And WHO are YOU?" 

Vera punctuated her words with her finger playfully poking Joan's chest, then leaned in closer, one heel popping up behind her. 

Joan's arms slid around Vera as Joan slid down and back, resting comfortably against the counter. She annointed Vera's chin, cheek, and temple each with a kiss, slowly, gently, reverently.  Vera murmured her pleasure at the gentle progress of Joan's lips over her face, closing her eyes and breathing in so deeply her body stretched with it.

"No governer here," Joan responded, her right hand stroking Vera's side, eventually settling on her hip. Her half-closed eyes watched Vera wholly, gently. Vera leaned in closer, to better hear the words slipping over her lips.

"Just Joan," she said softly and, leaning in, kissed Vera with such a lush, warm tenderness that Vera sighed audibly. They stayed there for a moment, held gently by a sensation neither wanted to end. Joan breathed cleanly and long through her nose, exhaling with a sort of relief. She moved her mouth ever so slightly to allow for her tongue to caress Vera's softly opened mouth searchingly, and the touch was warmly returned, til their mouths were settled in each other like an embrace, close and serenely united. The night outside seeped in, crickets and birds humming, holding the two in a snowglobe of thoughtless love.

Vera was the one to break the kiss, brushing her face against Joan like an affectionate cat, breathless with the emotion of that kiss.

"Well, Just Joan," Vera said, exhaling against her bare neck, sending a shiver across Joan's skin.  She pushed back slightly, not willing to break the embrace or fully end the moment. "Would you like to take your "possibly proper legal future partner" upstairs to continue this conversation?"

Joan gave a sort of jolt, blinking hard at Vera.

"Is that... is that a yes?"

Vera leaned in closer, dangerously close. Joan unsteadily swallowed air through her mouth and exhaled it as shakenly. Vera's lips curled in a curious, uncharacteristically teasing smile.

"Depends, " she said, toying with Joan's open collar. "Was that an actual question?"

Whatever Vera had been expecting, Joan sliding onto the floor and taking a knee was  _not_ it.

Vera's hands suddenly didn't know where to go and they fluttered helplessly until Joan grasped them, bringing them to her heart. She looked up at Vera beseechingly, eyes glimmering - bare, raw, vulnerable. Her lower lip trembled as she was about to speak.

 _This can't possibly be happening,_ Vera thought, and she wondered idly if she might faint. And if thanking Matthew Fletcher for this would be too bitter.

Joan's fingers flexed tightly, clammy around Vera's hands. Her voice shook with ignored tears.

"Vera Bennett, I promise you that I will always respect, cherish, uplift, and  _protect_ you, so long as I have the strength of body or mind to do so." She wrapped both hands now around Vera's smaller ones, pressing them hard to her chest. Vera felt the sting of tears reflected in Joan's shimmering, honeyed eyes. "And it would give the utmost meaning and blessing to my existence to do nothing more or less than love you for the rest of my life."

She paused, breathed heavily in an out of her mouth, fighting tears.

_ Now or never, Joan. _  The words of her father were suddenly turned on their head, tinged with compassion. She breathed again, overcome. She heard him one, final time.

_ Be brave. _

"Vera," she whispered, quite seriously and gravely, caressing her hands with a touch as delicate as her voice. She looked to their hands hesitantly, then gathered all her courage. Joan's smile shown brilliantly through her tears.

"Will you do me the profound and unbelievable honor of being my wife?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Super short update, promise I have bigger plans for the finale after this!

Vera felt like someone had fired a gun very close to her ear, rendering everything coldly mute.

"Wha... what did you just... did you..."

She swallowed, annoyed at herself, shutting her eyes to tear herself from Joan's puppy-hopeful look, which was making it worse.

With her eyes shut, she relaxed into the blackness, feeling only the gently settling of her own eyelids, and the gentle tug of Joan's hands on hers.  She breathed in slowly, exhaled, and cleared her throat.  She did not open her eyes as she asked, with a light laugh in her voice,

"Are you... Joan, are you serious?"

She didn't dare to open her eyes as she felt Joan begin to stand - her throat contracted against a sudden rush of tears, her brow furrowing almost painfully, and she breathed in short spurts through her nose, afraid she had was being fooled with.  If that was the case, she couldn't take it, she'd never forgive Joan, she'd --

Vera suddenly felt gentle, hesitant palms coming to cup either side of her face.  Joan's hands pressed gently, cradling her jaw and still reaching Vera's temples, massaging tenderly.

"Vera... look at me."

When her eyes popped open, Vera saw how pathetic she looked reflected in Joan's expression - she felt like a child about to punished for simply existing.  Her eyes seemed to move of their own volition, trying to run away from the sincerity of Joan's tear-filled gaze - which she held, unwavering, as Vera flinched again and again, but still returned her eyes to Joan's, again and again.

Joan lifted her chin.

"Vera.  I mean.  Every.  Word."

Vera gasped, suddenly breathing again.

"Then you mean - you really," she swallowed air, looking away, looking back, not believing what she was hearing, "You mean you want to --"

Joan returned Vera's wandering, erratic gaze to her with gentle pressure on either side of her face.  When Vera finally looked at her, and swallowed hard, Joan simply waited for her to calm herself before speaking.

"I mean, Vera, exactly what I said.  I love you, and I intend to go on doing so - in the fullest capacity you will allow me."

Vera lifted one hand up to touch Joan's forearm.  She swallowed again and exhaled shakily.

"Then I... I accept your offer."

Joan laughed almost silently.

"Which one, Vera?"

Vera cleared her throat and chewed her bottom lip a moment.  Her legs swung like a child.

"To marry you.  I accept."  She stopped, laughing at herself.  

Vera grabbed Joan's other forearm and pulled herself forward and up - and before their lips met, she said,

"Yes, Joan.  I'll marry you."


End file.
